She ran out of her own wedding . . . But why?

"Cassie? Is that you?" came a deep masculine voice.
Oh, God. It was him! Why was it, without ever hearing his voice, she just knew it was him?
Cassie whirled. Just as she'd feared, there he stood, a few feet beyond her. Mr. Brian Drake, In The Flesh. Her heart hammered wildly, then seemed to plunge into her stomach.
For a moment she just stared. He was only a few inches taller than she was, but, oh, he was male perfection in his knitted shirt and dark slacks, especially with the wind ruffling his hair and rippling his clothing against his hard body. She studied the beauty of his bare forearms, the broadness of his shoulders, the flawless contours of his jaw. Oh, heavens, she couldn't bear it--she felt that treacherous twinge of excitement again, just as she had at the church, and could have sunk through the pier. She had no business feeling this way so soon after she'd run out of her own wedding!
"Cassie?" he repeated, stepping closer.
She waved her bottle. "Please, go away."
"Hey, don't be frightened," he cajoled. "I'm Brian Drake, and I was at your--"
"I know who you are," she cut in, brushing a wisp of hair from her eyes. "It's just that I can't face you--or anyone--not now."
But he merely grinned and continued toward her. "You're not being very hospitable, Cassie."
"I'm not feeling very hospitable," she replied ruefully.
He arrived at her side and gazed at her with concern. Cassie felt as if dying by inches. The man was too sexy. Moonlight gleamed in his hair, and the spicy scent of his cologne teased her senses. He was so vibrant and real, his smile so disarming, his eyes so gorgeous, deep-set, fringed by long, dark lashes. Not to mention, those adorable dimples.
Heavens, what was she thinking, doing? Two hours ago, she'd walked out on her fiance. Now she was once again salivating over the best man!
"Cassie, are you okay?" he inquired in that same voice of rich, deep silk.
"Of course I'm not okay," she replied tightly. "Brides who stage a fifty-yard dash out of their own weddings are definitely not okay. What are you doing here, anyway?"
He sighed. "I've come on a mission of mercy, to beg you to reconsider and come back to the church with me."
"Gee, a regular nice guy," she muttered. "Who appointed you Mr. Fix-it?"
"Well, after you ran out, we were all so worried, and I--well, volunteered to come after you."
Her gaze narrowed. "How'd you know where to find me, anyway?"
"I spoke to Lisa, and she told me about the condo."
Cassie's voice was trembling badly. "Ah, so you're a master detective, too. Why don't you be even more clever and leave me alone?"
"Why?"
"Why?" Drawing a shaky breath, she gazed out at the ocean. "I thought that would be obvious. I want--need--to be alone."
He nodded toward the Gulf. "You're not going to throw yourself in the drink, are you?"
She harrumphed and sipped her drink. "I intend to drown my sorrows--not my person."
He stared down at the four-pack at her feet, then pulled a face and touched her arm. "You sure you can handle two of those?"
She flinched as if burned by his touch. "Watch me." She took another sip and grinned at him crookedly. "Want one?"
"I don't think so," he replied.
Cassie took note of his worried scowl. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be Mr. Spontaneous, you're not being very spontaneous at the moment. You should be suggesting we hang glide off the seawall or something."
He chuckled. "Who told you I'm Mr. Spontaneous?"
"Come, now," she chided. "Losing track of time while rock-climbing? Bringing the bride blue columbine? Besides, Chris told me all about you--or, should I say, he warned me. The original free-spirited bachelor." She paused. "But I must say you're not doing your cavalier image justice."
His laugh was deep, edged with self-deprecation. "Well, perhaps it's not too often that I get upstaged."